Cold
by Satania
Summary: [Harry Potter] My first Harry Potter fic. Very angsty, very dark, and eventually Draco/Harry slash. In his sixth year, Harry decides maybe being a Golden Boy isn't as great as everyone thinks it is | Chapter Two
1. We Kiss The Stars

Disclaimer: I don't own any of J.K.R's beautiful creations...Sadly!  
Author: Satania  
Title: Cold  
Rating: R  
Summary: My first Harry Potter fic. Very angsty, very dark, and eventually Draco/Harry slash. In his sixth year, Harry decides maybe being a Golden Boy isn't as great as everyone thinks it is.  
  
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Sitting alone on his bed, starring out the window across the lake that kept the grounds of Hogwarts inaccessible by any other than those who knew exactly where to find them, Harry wondered how different life had been before he found out that his destiny was that of a wizard. He would spend days at the Dursley's, locked up under the stairs, stomach growling and waiting for the day when he would be free. Many times he had written himself letters, describing how one day he would be free. To pass the time, he would compare the loudness of the creeks as Dudley went up and down the stairs, each month getting fatter and the creeks getting more strained as if the stairs were in pain. Harry had once written a suicide note, planning to steal a knife from the kitchen when he was called to make breakfast for his boorish uncle. It would have been so easy. But that very day, Dudley's birthday, the Dursley's figured it was too risky to leave Harry in the house by himself. For all they knew, he could mess up the beautiful white rug in the front hall with his filthy feet. How Harry wished he could slit his wrists and bleed all over that infernal carpet. But that day had changed his life. It was not every day he talked to snakes, and ever since he had that interesting conversation, Harry was certain there was something different about him. Not that sort of different that his Aunt Petunia always accused him of, for she would constantly crack him across the face when she thought he was straying to far from the path of what she believed was normal. This meant no mention of occult legends, of princesses in high castles, or heaven forbid, magic. Now Harry understood. All these years later, he finally knew why his Aunt and Uncle had been so oppressive when it came to the mention of wizardry. It was because the force they so feared was real, and it had turned Petunia's own sister into one of those "freaks" that locked themselves up in a castle all year, learning various curses an other abominations.  
  
But this was all in the past. Harry was sixteen now, in his sixth year of schooling, a prefect and golden boy of the wizarding world. One more year and he would leave the school he loved so much for he would be done his training. Another year after that and he would be finally free, able to leave the Dursley's and live his life as he wanted to. The thought of owning his own flat, going out to local coffee shops with Ron and Hermione, staying up late listening to music. It all seemed so perfect, and so far away. Harry took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the night air and laying his head down on his pillow. This year was going to be a special one for him, he could tell. From the moment he had walked into the great hall this evening, looking at all the eyes of the students and teachers alike, he felt something in the air that this year would be different from the others. Better. Harry closed his eyes, thinking over what he planned to do after his first day of classes tomorrow. Something flashed in his mind quickly. He had potions first tomorrow, and like every previous year, the Gryffindors, loyal and true, were stuck with the Slytherins. That meant a certain platinum haired demon. One whose sole purpose in life was to make Harry's miserable. No one knew how deep exactly this demon's words affected Harry. But no one needed to know. Every day, Harry could play the same game. He wasn't hurt. Childish words meant nothing to him, and   
  
Of course, teenage angst only got him so far. He was tired of tormenting himself with the thoughts of how hard life was, and he was tired in general. He felt a deep sleep overwhelm him, tugging at his senses and luring him into a prefect dream world where he was just an average boy, with average friends, and there was no Voldemort peeping in his bedroom window to fill his mind with nightmares. Of course, this world could never be.  
  
There was shuffling around the sixth year boy's bedroom. The sounds of somebody, who wanted something, but didn't know exactly where to find it. Harry slowly opened his eyes, ready to tell whomever it was to shove off and get back into bed. Harry let his eyes adjust to the moonlight and blinked. Sitting up, he scanned the room for the perpetrator. He couldn't see anyone moving and the noise had ceased. He strained his ears to hear even the faintest sounds of movement, but there was nothing. He swung his legs cautiously over the edge of his bed and stood, a little shaky at first but then regaining his balance. He noticed the blankets on Neville's bed were slightly off looking, almost as if there were two bodies in there. Puzzled, Harry walked slowly over to the other boy's bed. Not wanting to awaken the whole room, he resisted the urge to holler out Neville's name. Instead, he bit his lip and stood beside the bed, still struggling a bit to see. The room was practically draped in shadows, creating a very eerie atmosphere. Reaching forward, his hand shaking, Harry grasped the edge of the blankets and pulled back. Horror washed over him and he fought the urge to scream. There was indeed another body in that bed. A creature, humanoid and glowing with the sliver moonlight, white haired and graceful, perched on top of Neville's torso, it's face buried in the sleeping boy's neck. The creature snarled and looked quickly up at Harry before moving into the darkest corners of the room, all before Harry had a chance to let the scene click into his mind. Whatever this thing was, it moved with super human speed. The thing laughed, gave Harry a wink with its glowing, silver eyes, and disappeared instantly. It had run, but to Harry, it seemed like the thing had disappeared into thin air. He looked down and Neville and tried to resist the urge to vomit. There were two puncture wounds and a free flow of blood pooling around the other boy's neck. Taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself, taking in the scene before him, and trying to decipher it logically, Harry decided the best thing to do was not to scream like his mind was trying to convince him. Slowly and calmly he sat down.  
  
"Ron." His voice remained quite level, sounding slightly upset yet holding that power it was expected to have. There was no response right away, so Harry tried again. "Ron!"  
  
This time there was a groan and an expletive. Harry turned, still sitting, to face Ron's bunk and sighed. A mop of red hair popped out from under the thick red blankets and yawned. There was a look of innocence about Ron that always fascinated Harry. After all the past five years had presented them with, with all the death and pain, the red haired boy managed to keep happy, always looking at the positive side of things. He never could find anything positive about Snape, potions class, Slytherins in general, but those were childish things. Last year, when Harry had been suffering from terrible insomnia, Ron had stayed up night after night to comfort him and keep him company, all the time claiming it did him good to stay up with harry because they got to know each other even more. The red haired boy stood from his bed and immediately flopped to the floor.  
  
"Do you have any idea what the bloody time is Harry? You not having problems sleeping again, are you?" There was a mixed tone of anger and concern in Ron's voice.  
  
"No Ron, I'm fine. I-" Harry took a deep breath, feeling panic wash over him. He fought to gain control over his mind, feeling defiance in his mind against the fear. "Neville...He needs, he's, he-"  
  
"What is it Harry? Bloody hell, spit it out." Ron stood again and very awkwardly made his way over to Harry, stopped, starred at the trembling boy, and walked over to Neville's bed. "Is there something wrong with Nev-"  
  
Harry cringed as the red haired boy made a noise somewhat like a mangled scream mixed with a furious cry. He watched as Ron collapsed to the floor again, crying silently. The other boy's shoulders heaved in unison to the silent, terror filled tears that streamed down his face.  
  
"Harry! We have to get him to Madame-"  
  
"Pomfrey." He finished Ron's sentence for him. "Just what I was thinking. Ok, I'll cast a levitate spell on him. I don't think we should disturb his body, incase, well I don't know."  
  
"Did you see the thing that did this?" Ron turned and faced Harry; his eyes wide like a child's.  
  
"Sort of. It was so fast; I'm not sure what it was. By the looks of it, it was probably a vampire, but I want to know how a vampire could get on the grounds of Hogwarts. Vampires live out in the Northern parts of England, that's what we learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts. There are almost no vampires around here." Harry bit his lip, confused and frightened beyond all reason.  
  
"Unless..."  
  
"Unless what Ron?"  
  
"Well, remember Lupin? I mean, like, a werewolf couldn't have gotten onto Hogwarts ground unless it was invited or if no one knew whoever it is happens to be a vampire."  
  
"So, you think that maybe whatever did this to Neville could be a teacher?"  
  
"No Harry, not a teacher. I think it was a student." Ron swallowed hard and stood, dusting himself off and calming himself down. "Now let's get him down to Madame Pomfrey."  
  
Harry nodded and cast a levitation charm on Neville's sleeping body. He ripped a corner off the sheets on Neville's bed and wadded them up on the puncture wounds, not wanting to drip blood all over the place. He nodded at Ron, and led the way out the portrait hole, Neville floating peacefully behind him. He made his way through the twisting corridor's, down case after case of moving stairs until finally he reached the medical wing. Ron had stopped crying and was looking much calmer. The two boys entered the wing, making sure that Neville's unconscious form followed. They lead it to a bed, and Harry dispelled the charm, cringing as Neville's body hit the bed with a thump.  
  
"Madame Pomfrey!" Harry called, running through the wing as soon as Neville was on the bed. "Madam Pomfrey, its Neville! He's been attacked!"  
  
As he called, Harry realized his perfect year was off to a really awful start.  
  
"All right then, stop hollering like a wounded dog. I'm here! Now, tell me what's happened."  
  
As Harry went with Madame Pomfrey to the bed where Ron watched over Neville, he explained the whole story. Madame Pomfrey did not give the reaction that Harry had expected at all. She took Neville's pulse, removed the wadded up sheet from around his neck, and told the other two boys calmly to go fetch Dumbledore and then return to bed. As soon as they left the medical wing, Harry grabbed Ron by the shoulder.  
  
"You go back to bed, I'll get Dumbledore." He instructed sternly.  
  
"You'll be ok by yourself?" Ron smiled his famous lop sided smile.  
  
"Ron, I'm always by myself." He muttered before he ran off towards Dumbledore's office.  
  
Ron sighed and walked back to the Gryffindor dormitories, confused and worried about not only Neville's well being, but about Harry's too. That vacant look in the brunette's shocking green eyes was disturbingly unsettling. But it was not his business what went on in Harry's head. Sometimes it really bothered him how secluded Harry had become ever since Cedric's death in fourth year and the "purges in the fifth year. Things had become very different around Hogwarts. Harry had lost a best friend, and Ron had lost the love of his life. The Death Eaters had come to Hogwarts, not as themselves, but through their children. The Slytherin house committed the most deadly purges ever seen, slaughtering those who were not of pure blood with pure, animal hatred. Harry and Ron had fought hard against the possessed Slytherins, never quite sure when they were matching wits against the silver haired Draco, or when they were really dealing with the elder Lucius. Hermione had sacrificed herself in a deadly show down between Harry and Draco/Lucius. Ron had been there, watching the whole thing from a corner of the dungeon where the other two boys had begun to match powers. He had shouted at Harry to eliminate Draco, for with Draco's body destroyed, Lucius's conscious would be forever lost in the fabric of space ant time. But Harry didn't want to punish Draco for Lucius's actions. The Slytherins were not aware of the horrors they committed. Much like Ginny in second year, they were under the possession of their parents. Draco was not responsible for the murders his father had committed, and Harry could not justify his eradication. And in that moment of weakness, Lucius struck through Draco, casting the Avada Kadavera curse a grin of triumph on Draco's perfect features. Hermione's fate was sealed. She was so brave. She had stood in the way, taking the full blast of the curse to save Harry. Her scream still echoed in Ron's mind as he remembered her face, wide eyed and in pain. She had collapsed to the floor and Ron had attacked. He swung at Draco/Lucius with all his might, forgetting his wand, feeling the pure rage course through his veins. Of course, Dumbledore came to the rescue, pulling Ron off of Draco/Lucius and casting a spell that sent Lucius's conscious back to his own body. Draco had no memory of committing any murders, and no memory of that faith Harry put in him for that brief moment.  
  
Ron shuddered involuntarily as he reached the portrait hole. He gazed up and down the corridor, finally resting his eyes on the fat lady in the painting in front of him. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to wake the sleeping picture. Her eyes fluttered open slowly and focused on the red haired boy.  
  
"What are you doing up so late?" She asked, stifling a yawn.  
  
"Well, you see, oh." Ron thought hard, not knowing whether or not to tell her. She was after all, only a painting. "Nothing. Did you perhaps let anyone into the tower that was, I don't know, unusual?"  
  
"No, not at all my dear. Is anything the matter?"  
  
"No, not really. Well, 'Tranquil Euphoria'." Ron breathed in sharply as the portrait swung open.  
  
It finally occurred to him that whoever had attacked Neville may not have left. He or she could still be lurking in the shadows within the common room. Ron gazed around the room, his eyes wide with panic. He knew that if Hermione were still here, she would tell him to stop being such a baby and just go to bed. Not seeing anything suspicious, Ron dashed up the stairs to his bed. He dove under the covers, arming himself with his wand and pulling the blankets over his head. Whatever had attacked Neville might come back, he decided. He didn't want to be caught with his pants down so to speak. Before he fell asleep, one more thought poked Ron. Maybe the creature had come in through the open window. He stood up, closed all the windows in the room, careful not to awaken any of the other boys, and got back into bed. He quickly fell asleep again, but it was a troubled, uneasy sleep. The kind of sleep one had when one has stayed up all night watching horror films. Except for Ron, the horror films were his reality.  
  
Harry awoke the next morning to a warm sunlight streaming down onto his face. The previous night's events still burned in his mind, as if they were painted onto his eyelids so whenever he blinked, he could see Neville's pale skin and the blood pooling around him. Harry couldn't stand the though of loosing another friend. He had lost Cedric, Hermione, Justin, Seamus, and countless others. More blood shed. More pain. Whatever Harry had felt as he had entered the Great Hall, that feeling that this year, everything would be ok, whatever that was it was wrong. It seemed to Harry that he couldn't go anywhere without all hell breaking loose. Maybe if he had never come to this school, if he had just endured the torture of living with the Dursleys, half the events that had happened in Hogwarts over that past five years would never have happened. Hermione would still be here. But, then again, it wouldn't matter for he would never meet her. Harry felt warm tears building up in the corners of his eyes. Ron would have still met Hermione. It was common knowledge throughout the school how deeply they had felt for one another. Ron could have been happy if it wasn't for him...  
  
"Harry, are you awake?" Ron sounded slightly different this morning. The usual chipper tone he embedded into his words had eroded away slightly, but he still sounded quite happy.  
  
"Yeah, I'm up. What time is it?"  
  
"Um, it's, well I'm not sure. We'd best get up and go to classes. Don't want to be late for Potions first day."  
  
Harry let his eyes close again as he groaned. He lay there, still and waiting as he listened to the sounds of Ron getting ready. Ron said something to the effect of meeting him in class, but Harry took no notice. His mind was set on the creature that had attacked Neville. Everything about it had glowed with an unearthly aura, a haunting silver tone that brought a shudder up Harry's spine as he thought about it. When he had told Dumbledore, he got the usual canned response telling him everything would be all right in the end. Dumbledore just didn't seem to understand that is was never all right in the end. First year, Harry had come back to the Dursleys and couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and could barely talk from trauma. Second year, he came back paranoid; unable to move through the hallways of the tiny house he was fostered in without whirling around three times in all directions to make sure he was alone. Third year, he flew into a deep depression. Suicidal thoughts again bubbled in his head like they had before he had been accepted to Hogwarts. Fourth year, Cedric's death haunted Harry's thoughts and dreams. And finally, in his fifth year, Harry stopped being that happy little Golden Boy everyone made him out to be. He realized that the only person he could depend on was himself, because in the end, he was the only one who had defeated the evils that face him. He had countless amounts of help, but something inside Harry told him he would have been able to overcome all his adversaries even without the help of those around him. If that was true, then Hermione was a wasted life. Harry fought back tears, telling himself he was stronger than that, and walking into Potions first thing with eyes full of tears would not help matters. He quickly got ready, pulling on his robes and gathering his books and quills together. He stood in front of the mirror that sat above his bedside table, looking himself in the eyes. He could still remember when there was a flame there, flickering with anticipation for the new day. Where had it gone? This was no time for metaphoric battles with himself. Harry sighed and ran out the portrait hole, trying to escape the gaze of his own reflection.  
  
With a hint of dread, Harry pushed open the door to the Potions dungeon. The air was dank and smelled a sickly, rotting, sweet smell. He crinkled his nose and found his seat next to Ron. Snape had not yet entered the classroom, which was a relief to Harry. The boy didn't want any confrontations. He pulled out the current book they were working with, "Practically Perfect Potions" by Pricilla Ponion. There was something about all the more famous wizards that bothered Harry. All their first and last names started with the same letter. And all their books had cheesy titles. Harry dreaded that when he grew up, he might have to change his name to Parry Potter, or Harry Hotter. There was a sharp crack of wood in the back room and Snape emerged, looking quite flustered and covered in a fine white powder. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have dismissed it as Snape's lack of personal hygiene. But something about his face suggested that it wasn't dandruff.  
  
"Well, I see we're all here. Right then. Turn to page three hundred and forty two and read to page five hundred. If I hear one murmur, you'll all be in here after class serving detention." Snape dusted one shoulder off and glared at the class with his tiny, snake like eyes. "I'll be in the storage room."  
  
With that, he turned around, flourishing his cape and stalking off into the depths of the back storage room. There were a few nervous chuckles and quick whispered comments as the class set into reading the newest chapter on the deadly Kurse Rute Poysun. With a quick read over, it was actually quite simple to make and Harry decided that there was something else on Snape's mind, for the man delighted in presenting the class with impossibly hard potions. He closed his book slowly and turned to Ron.  
  
"Does any of this strike you as odd?" He queried, keeping his voice low enough so only Ron could hear.  
  
"I could have made this in first year. I think, well, maybe Snape knows something?" Ron's eyes crossed slightly, a sign he was trying to think. "Maybe he's putting up wards or something."  
  
"Perhaps. Something just doesn't seem right. Snape never gives us uninstructed in class reading."  
  
"Come on Harry. We've spent the last five years suspecting Snape of the worst, and in the end he's always out there protecting you. You just need to learn to trust the guy. I mean, you see the man with a knife and you think he's trying to kill you when really he's trying to kill whatever is posing you a threat." Ron sighed and flopped down over the desk in front of him. "That being said, you know, I still don't fully trust him."  
  
"You're such a child Ron." Harry laughed. It was an honest laugh, one Ron hadn't heard from him in a long time.  
  
The rest of the day was uneventful. Harry snueeked off to the prefect's bathroom after dinner in hopes of washing up and cleaning some of the dirt off from working with Hagrid and his creatures. He spent a few minutes trying to remember the password, always getting the Gryffindor password and the bathroom password mixed up. Finally remembering it was "Lemon Scented" he entered the bathroom and sighed. The air was thick with water vapor and sweet and fragrant, meaning someone had just gotten out of the bath. Harry stepped a little deeper into the room, enveloping himself in the thick misty air. He couldn't tell if there was anyone else in the room, but the tub was empty so he turned a couple of the taps, filling the tub with a bright blue water with green bubbles that smelt like the fresh fields of Ireland. He inhaled deeply before disrobing and hopping in. The water was soothing, washing over his body like a much welcome wave. He swam a couple of laps around the tub before beginning to wash. With a deep breath, he plunged underwater, wetting his hair and running his fingers through the unruly mass. As he surfaced, he heard a chuckle from one of the far corners.  
  
"So, Potter, figured you could escape the world with a dandy little bath?" The drawling voice of his demonic rival cut through the misty air and caused a twang of anger inside Harry.  
  
"Shove off Malfoy, I just want to be left alone." Harry sighed and started to lather shampoo into his hair. "You're just using this as an excuse to see me naked."  
  
"Ah, is that an invitation?" Something in Draco's voice sent a shiver up Harry's spine. Not a reassuring shiver, the kind one gets when in a graveyard. "Actually, I just got out of the bath myself."  
  
Harry didn't respond immediately. He dipped his head back and rinsed the shampoo out, slowly, hoping that Malfoy would leave if he didn't respond. He grabbed a bar of soap from beside the tub and began to lather up his arms. When Malfoy cleared his throat loudly, Harry opened his eyes wide and sighed.  
  
"Just leave. I'm not really in the mood for company."  
  
"Don't be that way. I'm just trying to be friendly with the great Saint Potter." Malfoy chuckled, stepping towards the tub and kneeling at the edge of it.  
  
As Malfoy's slate gray eyes burned into Harry's, both boys were silent. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, unable to make his mouth work and form words. He glanced over his rival's toned body, pale and thin, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair was loose, falling freely over his face. There was something about him that created a glowing effect, as if he were some sort of otherworldly creature. Like a veela, Harry found he was caught up in the gaze of this fiend. His bottom lip began to tremble despite the control Harry was trying to administer over his body. Malfoy leaned forward slightly, as if to capture the other boy's lips in his. Harry groaned inwardly as he realized he was hoping that was the case. But all Malfoy did was smirk, his breath smelling of wintergreen mints.  
  
"Don't explode Potter." And with that, he stood and walked off.  
  
It was as simple as that. He left. Harry let out a loud groan and slipped under the water. His mind raced as fast as it could, digesting what his body was telling him. He had just seen Malfoy, almost completely naked, and he liked it. Sure, Harry had gone through the odd crush on some of the other boys in the school, and he had always thought Malfoy was pretty cute for and asshole. But that closeness seemed to seal it in Harry's mind. He surfaced and took in a deep breath of oxygen. He wanted to cry or vomit. He wasn't sure which one was more appealing. The year was getting worse and worse by every second.  
  
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Author's Note: So, that's the first chapter. Tell me what you think! Please don't be too harsh, it is after all my first fic. So, should I continue, or should I just fade back into obscurity? Please tell me the former is the case :) 


	2. We Writhe, We Are

Dedications to those who are worth it:  
  
LadyJessy: Thank you! I will try to continue then.  
DaNi: As you wish. I live to serve ;P  
silverfeather: "Bloody fantastic" may be over doing it. I'll settle for "Groin grabbingly awesome" though.  
Relle: Wee, what a boost of confidence!  
  
Warning: This chapter is a little graphic. Not too bad though, I'm saving the "good" stuff for later ;) If you really don't like m/m slash, then well...You shouldn't be reading this story anyway!  
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Weeks passed and Harry tried to coast through his classes giving as little as possible to the outside world. Ron was beginning to become very worried about his friend. Transfiguration class seemed especially hard on Harry for some reason. He would drag himself to his seat and basically sleep for the entire class. He used to lock himself up in the dorms, which was a sign of life. Perhaps a life not so willingly lived, but life. Now Harry just seemed dead. Day by day, there was some sort of poison inside Harry that was eating away at him. It hurt Ron to watch his friend disintegrate, but there was nothing more he could do other than watch. There was no intervention he could perform because really, Harry wasn't showing obvious signs of self-destructive behavior. Fate had just grabbed him around the neck and decided to play a mean joke with him. As Ron sat in class, blindly taking notes on how to transfigure magic wands into common muggle artifacts to reduce suspicion, he wondered what Harry was doing. He hadn't shown up for class. Ron had forced the other boy awake only to be swatted away as his best friend told him to go on without him. There was something in his tone that worried Ron. Something suggesting that under the depression, under the pain there was an evil dwelling. Something just bursting to get outside and bring havoc to those left around Harry. Or perhaps, rather than sitting up in the Gryffindor dorms, Harry had gone to visit Neville in the infirmary. The boy had recovered quite quickly for a vampire victim, according to Madame Pomfrey. It was a little disturbing because there had been no more attacks. Students were not easily calmed though. Clubs were started to learn about vampires and the best defense tactics, wards were hung around bunks, and yet still the students remained. Still, Dumbledore insisted there was no need for alarm. The man never thought there was a need for alarm. As Ron pondered whether or not the man was quite sane, Harry was thinking the same thing from the very spot Ron thought he was; Sitting on Neville's bed in the medical ward.  
  
"And then Gran just threw all my Quidditch cards into the fire. Just like that! Poof, they were gone. I had spent years collecting them all." Neville sighed and shifted, rubbing the small scar on his neck. "I suppose my problems seem trivial to yours, eh Harry?"  
  
"Come now Neville. I've only fought Vold-" He stopped as he saw Neville flinch. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named about a million times since I was a baby. And don't get me started on his minions! But hey, your Gran makes You-Know-Who seem like a nobody."  
  
Neville laughed a nervous laugh, as if he though his grandmother may just pop out from under the bed and scold him. He adjusted the pillows under his head and closed his eyes. Harry admired how young and innocent Neville seemed. He was always messing something up, but he was loveable. Every time he was hurt or in tears, Harry just wanted to scoop the boy up in his arms and hug him close. He still looked like the eleven year old boy Harry had met on the first day of school; wide eyed and filled with wonderment, or the one who insisted on grabbing onto Harry's robes when serving detention. Like Ron, Neville never seemed to spoil. He fretted over small things like a lost quill. Something simple like a marble could bring him so much joy. It was different for Harry. Harry couldn't become attached to simple things. If he lost something trivial, he just went out and bought a new one. Neville was concerned with the loss of his pet toad, while Harry was concerned with the loss of friends and their lives. Neville again opened his eyes and smiled.  
  
"Harry. What's changed? I mean, with you?" Neville turned on his side. "You're not the Harry Potter I used to know."  
  
"No. I'm not. But then again, I don't think anyone really ever knew the old Harry Potter."  
  
"I knew you. I knew when you had that crush on Blaise for like a week, and I didn't tell. You're one of my best friends Harry. You and Ron are the only ones who ever stand up for me. I know I'm a little, well, clumsy and an easy target."  
  
"Neville. I think you're perfect just the way you are." Harry pulled on a slow smile. "Don't change like I have."  
  
"All right. I'll try to remain incompetent and a really easy target." Neville's eyes were closing again.   
  
"Nev, you get some sleep. I'm going to go-" He paused. "I'm going to go."  
  
Harry stood and pulled his robes straight, wanting to maintain the look of superiority even if he didn't feel it inside, and left the medical wing. He didn't know where he wanted to go, because he wasn't sure he knew where he belonged. If he returned to class, he would be scolded endlessly by Professor McGonagall. He decided he would go to the Gryffindor dorms and change his robes, then sneak to the old astronomy tower where he could spend the rest of the day peacefully. Vaguely aware of the many paintings babbling at him about various insignificant things, Harry climbed the many stairs up to his dorm. He stopped in front of the portrait hole, the fat lady starring at him quite inquisitively.  
  
"And why are you not attending your current class, my young man?"  
  
"Ill." Harry muttered. "'Tranquil Euphoria'. Going to get some rest."  
  
All Harry needed was for the portrait that guarded the dorms to get on his case as well. It seemed that everyone was putting up these happy little "let's pretend we care" masks to try and make Harry fly straight again. For the first time in several years, Harry had sneaked a knife up to his dorm the previous night. It lay under his mattress, glistening in a light that no one wanted to shine. Harry collapsed on top of his bed, tucking himself into a tight little ball. Where were his incredible powers when he needed saving from himself? In all the problems he had faced, he was always the victor, the glorious pillar of strength in a crumbling world of pain. There was a silence that was growing in Harry. A sort of void that consumed every shred of happiness that once dwelled within the darkened caves of his mind. When in a place like this, it's hard for anyone to bring him or herself out into the light and beg for help from those around them. For Harry, it would be impossible. He couldn't let the school know about his weakness. He would harbor it inside him, let it grow, and never speak of it to anyone. He had spent the past sixteen years doing just that. He didn't see any reason to change his ways now. It really would be quite easy, he reckoned. To just pluck that knife out from under the mattress was no where near as difficult as it seemed. It seemed to sing to him in his sleep, telling him everything could be made better. With two little cuts, a lot of bleeding and all the pain that had been collecting inside him would be free.  
  
"No!" Harry cried to no one in particular. "You just want to catch the weakness in me. I will *not* sink to that level again."  
  
Salty, stinging tears began to work there way into Harry's eyes. He knew he had demons inside him, but he also knew how to control them. Like everything else in his life, he grew accustomed to them, and learned their habits. He knew when they like to surface, and what emotions they played at. He grew around them, ever vigil for their presence. Sometimes he wondered whether he was going crazy. The way he acted around himself was less than normal and he had the feeling that other people around him were taking notice. Shudders climbed down his spine, stabbing him painfully and causing him to gasp. He sat up slowly, blinking away tears and gazing around the room, a hint of paranoia tingling in the back of his brain. It was as if someone, or something, was watching him. Harry's breath quickened. He got up quite awkwardly, turning so that no corner of the room was out of his sight for more than a few seconds. His chest began to tighten, constricting across his lungs and making his breathing erratic and painful. He could feel it. Something was in the room with him. He couldn't see it or hear it, but he knew it was there. The scar on his forehead began to burn painfully. It was a blinding, scorching pain that tingled throughout his body. He slapped his hand over it, pressing down and hoping the pressure would ease the pain. As quickly as everything had started, it stopped. The pain eased away and Harry's breath returned to normal. Slowly, he eased himself onto the bed again, glancing around the room one last time. He peeled his sweater off and lay half-naked on his bed, gazing at the ceiling. His mind raced. Could it be what had attacked Neville was not a vampire, but Voldemort? Nothing else other than the dark lord had ever caused Harry's scar to burn like that.  
  
"Hermione, I wish you were here." He muttered and closed his eyes.  
  
In a way, she was with him. In his dreams, he was eleven again. He was running through the corridors of Hogwarts for the first time, Hermione and Ron right behind, grinning with the bliss of youth. They dodged teachers and students, taking in the awe of the castle. They ran outside to the lake and the scene shifted. They were now twelve, in their second year and a little of the pink from their cheeks had ebbed off over the long summer. They were huddled in the library, accusing stares being thrown at Harry. He stood to leave Hermione and Ron calling after him. As he walked up to the Gryffindor common room, he got a little taller and was now thirteen. He was shivering, clutching his wand tight, and looking around him for the dementors that had infested the school. He saw Hermione coming towards him, her figure beginning to become apparent under her Hogwarts robes. She smiled and reached out to him. He grabbed her hand and this time they grew together. His voice deepened and his muscles became more defined. Hermione's cheekbones smoothed and her breasts swelled. Ron emerged from behind them, his unruly red hair neatly gelled down and his Adam's apple bouncing as he congratulated Harry on being chosen from the Goblet of Fire. The next minute, Harry was falling, screaming and landing with a thud next to Cedric's cold body. As Harry's eyes teared up, he changed. His eyes became dark and his muscles became tight and strong. He was now in his fifth year, stalking the halls alone. He ran into Hermione, fifteen and beautiful. Her front teeth now reduced to a normal size, and her body curving gracefully. Ron had his head rested on her shoulder, his cheeks red and his eyes wild with mischief. There was a bright green flash and she was on the floor, a new figure standing in the shadows. Ron collapsed to the floor, crying as Draco emerged from the shadows, eyes blank and wand held high. The sun rose and set over the scene, and it was once again different. There was no Ron, no Hermione, just Draco and Harry. Draco's pale skin glowed in the moonlight, his eye sparkling with light. He was standing shirtless, his supple skin pulled across his lean chest, and his wiry form was exposed to Harry's dark eyes. Harry was also shirtless, feeling quite naked and breathing heavily. Words were passed quickly but none were heard. Draco's lips came down on Harry's and the castle crumbled away. Draco faded away and Harry sat with his arms tight around his body, much older now, and sitting in a cell. He rocked back and forth, screaming before a St. Mungo's nurse came to give him his pills. She was singing. Some muggle song Harry had heard when one of Dudley's friends was over. It wasn't a bad song, but the distraught dream-Harry began to scream louder at the sound of it.  
  
Harry shot bolt upright in his bed. He often had dream similar, reflecting his past years and ending with him in a St. Mungo's cell. His lips were damp and he thought of Draco kissing him. He had never dreamt about Draco before. As a rule of being enemies, it was just something he didn't do. But there was something about that kiss that left Harry dissolving inside even as he was awake. Something was very real. A commodity about how soft his pale lips were, about the piercing gaze emitted from his slate-gray eyes, and about the slightly chocolate taste to his mouth. Never before had Harry dreamt so vividly, especially during the day. The sunlight was pouring gently into the room and the sweet serenity of silence surrounded him. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed deeply. He didn't know how much of the school day was left, but he was hoping it was very little. He was lonely and desperately wanted to talk to someone. The dream had upset him, and although his dreams were usually vivid reflections of the death that followed him, none had upset him as much as this one. To watch his enemy kissing him like it was some sick television program made him want to vomit.  
  
But then there was the matter of the prefect's bathroom. Being so close to Draco was so unbearably incredible for Harry. It was a hopeless situation for the boy. He didn't want to talk to Draco because he was sure any conversation would be based on verbal abuse, but he didn't want to avoid talking to Draco incase...Well, he wasn't sure what the "incase" was. Incase the pale-skinned demon felt the same way? It was abundantly clear to Harry that this was not the case. No, it was more incase Draco caught on to what Harry was feeling. Sure, the feelings were muddled and somewhat incoherent, but all the same. To have Draco running around blabbing to the whole school how the great Potter had fallen for his worst enemy would just make things more stressful. Letting out a deep groan and pulling his weight up and his body into a standing position, Harry stretched and screwed up his face as he worked out a kink in his lower back. The insomnia, the pain of everything had begun to manifest itself in Harry's body since last year. His muscles were often tight with stress and usually took many different creams to cause them to relax. Harry looked at the small clock on his bedside table and sighed. If he pulled on his clothes and ran, he could make it on time for dinner. The feeling of lonesomeness never left Harry, even when he was surrounded by friends in the Great Hall, but the feeling were somewhat subdued. As if in a trance, Harry got dressed and ran.  
  
Harry sat in between Dean Thomas and Ron. Dean was going on about how he had met this incredible girl in Ravenclaw. Between distracted noises of semi-interest, Harry poked at his food without ever raising anything to his lips. His eyes were to busy locked onto the potion master sitting at the main table. As the other teachers conversed in harmless banter, Snape sat looking at his food somewhat reminiscent of Harry. His eyes almost never left the plate. He sat with his head bent down and his long greasy locks falling over his face. None of the other teachers attempted to strike up a conversation with Snape. He would every once in a while cast a sideways look at the rest of the staff. For the first time, Harry felt a pang of guilt and sympathy for the man. He had been tormented in his youth to the point where he almost lost his life and therefore was quite bitter and cold. Because of his less than charming personality, none of the students liked him, and he was more bitter. The teachers avoided talking with him because of the anger pent up inside him tended to burst out at inappropriate times. Harry couldn't help but think that perhaps Snape wasn't as bad as everyone made him out to be. There was a lot of animosity between the two, but that didn't stop Harry from feeling his heart stop as Snape looked up directly into his eyes. Before those cold, dark slits turned angry, they glistened with tears and looked like a black void, directly linked to the potion master's tormented mind.  
  
"Isn't that great, eh Harry?" Dean swung his arms in excitement, emphasizing a point Harry hadn't heard.  
  
"Humph." He remarked, still watching Snape.  
  
"What are you starring at there?" Ron cocked his head around Harry to try and see what was so interesting. "Not making eyes at Snape, are you?"  
  
Dean laughed and spewed water all over the table in front of him, but Harry just turned pack to his dinner and poked at it. It looked quite appealing, but Harry found he just wasn't hungry. Dean was wiping up water with his napkin. Ron nudged Harry in the ribs, jostling him away from his thoughts.  
  
"Don't look now, but ol' ferret boy's gawking at you." Ron grinned slightly. "He must like your 'I've-just-skipped-an-entire-day-of-school-and-am-now-a-sweaty-mess' look."  
  
Slapping Ron lightly on the head, Harry looked up across the hall to the Slytherin and indeed, the gray-eyed boy was starring intently in Harry's direction. Crabbe and Goyle sat on one side of him, shoving their piggish faces with food, and Pansy Parkinson sat on the other. Her eyes were closed in the bliss of hearing her own voice blab on about something Harry could not hear from the great distance, and was grateful judging by the bored looks on the surrounding Slytherins faces. Draco twitched slightly as Harry's green eyes locked with his. An invisible spark flew across the room and Harry's body immediately responded with goosebumps. He shivered and tried to continue watching Draco's eyes. Pansy dropped a hand on the Slytherin boy's shoulder, and Harry swore Draco winked as he turned and gave Pansy a very impatient look.  
  
"Was he trying to jinx you?" Ginny asked breathlessly.  
  
"Uh, no." Harry looked away and at Ginny. "No, probably just trying to find something else wrong with me."  
  
Ginny was a great girl, she really was. Her hair was long now and the years of growing had been far too generous with her. Her face was smooth and oval, with her eyes spaced neatly above her nose, which curved down to pouting lips. Her shoulders showed muscle, yet flowed evenly into her body. She had a very elegant curve to her body, her breasts sitting firmly on her chest and her hips flaring out. Harry remarked to himself that if she had the right dress, something that wasn't purchased from a second hand store, she could easily be the most beautiful Gryffindor girl. Harry knew that Ginny would give the world for him to tell her this, but he couldn't bring himself to getting her hopes up. Ever since she had met him, she had idolized and adored him. She had the biggest crush on him, and that crush was beginning to turn into an infatuation, or worse, an obsession. Harry was used to Ginny's feelings by now. He accepted that she was falling in love with him and that he would never be able to love her in the same way because he was too afraid he would hurt her and in turn loose Ron. If the two were not related, Harry might have pursued her. He looked sidelong at Ron and then at Ginny. They were quite similar looking, actually. They both had that innocence burning behind their eyes. Harry blushed slightly in memory of the time where he had developed quite the crush on Ron back in fourth year. It was an awkward time and Ron had told Harry that maybe if situations were different (meaning if he wasn't madly in love with Hermione) that he would be more than happy to attempt a more-than-friends relationship. After Hermione's death, Harry hadn't brought it up in fear of bringing up old wounds. But it didn't matter anymore weather Harry was attached or not. He had found the presence of a boyfriend/girlfriend just didn't fill that void that was inside him. He wasn't sure if it was only because none of his past partners were his sole mate, or if it was because Harry was destined to spend life alone. The latter option frightened Harry. It was true that in his current position, love and happiness seemed impossible, but he didn't think all his life was going to be like this. He knew that if he fought hard enough, he'd overcome himself just like he had overcome every other adversity in his life. Harry saw Pansy stand up and leave out of the corner of his eye, but he paid no attention to it and turned so the Slytherin table was no longer in his view.  
  
"Ron. I think I'll head up to the common room a little later." Harry muttered as the hall was dismissed.  
  
"Are you okay? Do you want me to stay with you?" Ron grinned with concern.  
  
"I'll be fine."  
  
Harry watched the students and staff pile out of the hall. He stood as the last dwindlers' left. He walked slowly through the double doors and through the hallways with a very definite purpose. He made his way down to the dungeons and stood, hands shaking slightly at his sides in front of Snape's room. He knocked on the door before he pushed it open slowly. Snape was sitting at his desk. He looked up quickly, looking quite panicked.  
  
"What are you doing here, Potter?" He spat.  
  
"I want to talk to you professor. There are no rules against that, are there?" Harry didn't wait for an answer. He pushed his way through the room, marching up to Snape's desk and sitting on top of it with an air of determination.  
  
"I should deduct points for you barging in on me when I am loaded down with important work to do!" Snape's face was turning red with rage.  
  
"You can do whatever the hell you want. I really don't care." Harry shrugged to emphasize his point. He noticed a fine layer of white powder behind Snape's chair, but paid it no heed and continued. "I just have one thing to say to you."  
  
"And what is that, Potter. And please, make it really good so I can justify a solid twenty five points from Gryffindor." He twisted his lips into a greasy smile.  
  
"I just want to say I'm sorry. For everything I have done, for everything my father did, and for everything Sirius did."  
  
There wasn't another word said. Harry stood, gave Snape a half wave/half salute and wandered out of the room, closing the doors behind him. His robes whipped silently behind him and a smile tugged at his lips. He felt a huge sense of control over his life suddenly bubble underneath the surface of all his doubt and pain. He mentally replayed the look on Snape's face when he apologized. The shock was classic. He would never forget that moment. He stalked up to the prefect's bathroom. He muttered the password and entered. He relieved himself and slipped his clothes off. There was a shower in the back corner of the room, and this was Harry's choice form of cleansing when in a hurry. He wanted to get back to his room before the staff made their rounds. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went over to the shower. He pulled open the door and felt a scream lodge itself in his throat. Lying, bleeding from several different places was Pansy Parkinson. Her eyes were wide and cloudy. Harry sucked in a deep breath and leaned over her body, most of her clothes torn off though there were no traces of them in the stall, and checked her pulse. There was no pulse. Harry's breath became labored and obstructed by his chest tightening in fear. He ran to his clothes and pulled them on, wrapped his towel around Pansy and hoisted her over his shoulder. He ran as fast as he could, blindly whipping his head around, paranoid that something was following him. The corridors turned endlessly but finally ended at the medical wing. Throwing the girl down onto the bed, Harry collapsed to the floor. Blood was smeared on his hands and clothes. Sobs wracked his body and he let out an unearthly scream, somewhat like a wounded puppy. He lay in a ball on the floor, convulsing, with the image of Pansy lying in the shower replaying in front of his eyes. Madame Pomfrey came running towards him, talking quickly but Harry couldn't hear her. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he curled up tighter. He didn't want anyone to touch him. Something had killed Pansy and put her body right where he would find it. Time flashed by in a muddle of injections and strong hands lifting him into a bed. Potions, herbs, medicines flew around him and into him. He felt his mind slowly slip away into unconsciousness, but not without a definite struggle.  
  
Harry's drug induced sleep was dreamless, but it wasn't refreshing. He woke up in what he assumed was the morning with a killer headache and feeling incredibly tired. He had no recollection of what happened to him after he had reached the medical wing, but he assumed it wasn't anything to pleasant. His robes were gone and he was wearing standard hospital wing pajamas. After an attempt to sit up straight, he finally noticed the sleeping from of Ron sprawled over a chair next to his bed. The sight of the other boy's red hair spiked in some places and flat in others caused Harry to chuckle slightly. He leaned over and tapped Ron on the shoulder, trying to arouse him from his sleep. Ron gave a few mumbles and groans before his eyes fluttered open. There was a slight pause before Ron spoke.  
  
"You ok? You were a real mess last night. You were just lying there babbling." The red head yawned. "I was really scared."  
  
"So was I. I-I walked into the prefect's bathroom to have a shower and I found her. She was just lying there, cold and-" Harry blinked back the urge to cry. "Her face. Damn it, Ron, the look on her face! She looked so frightened, so surprised like it was someone she knew."  
  
"What if, you know, it was what attacked Neville?"  
  
"It could be. I don't know. I was so frightened; I had to get out of that bathroom. Ron, what if people think I'm the one who killed her?" Harry's stomach twisted with anxiety. He felt very sick all of a sudden.  
  
"Harry, you know that I can't predict that. It was pretty suspicious; you covered in blood and all. But then again, there was no way for you to carry her without getting blood on you. I think everything will be OK Harry. You rest up and I'm sure Dumbledore will talk to you when you're feeling better. If I were you, I'd use this as an opportunity to really catch up man. You've been acting so dead lately. I guess, well, I'm just really worried about you." Ron pushed back Harry's bangs and kissed him on the forehead. "You know that I'd die if anything happened to you."  
  
The red head smiled a sleepy, youthful look to his face. Harry drank in the image of what someone truly caring for him looked like. It was like a drug. The sight made Harry's blood rush faster and a feeling of belonging to emerge. Ron turned to leave, but Harry reached out and grabbed the other boy's hand. There were no words needed. Ron smiled slightly, trying to read into Harry's mind through those hungry, green eyes. Harry held on tight to the other's hand, refusing to let go of the warmth he was receiving. The moment was not really awkward, the boys would later decide it was tense. The tension had been building up for a while. Neither could keep track of how many years the tension had been building, struggling to get free but they both knew it had been there. Ron leaned forward slightly, his breath quite and slow. A nervous, tingling feeling pulsed in his stomach. Harry licked his lips slowly, leaned forward, and quickly caught Ron's lips in his own. The red head sat down on the bed, not loosing contact with the other boy's lips. It was as if all the tension was leaking out from between their lips. Both knew that as a couple, they would never last. But that didn't stop them from enjoying the kiss, and it certainly it didn't stop them from pushing it further. With his hand trembling, Harry wrapped his arms around the back of Ron's head and demanded entrance into the other boy's mouth with his tongue. Only too willing to comply, Ron tasted Harry for the first time. His mouth tasted slightly like iron from all the medicines Madame Pomfrey had given him to calm down, but it didn't matter. Ron lay back, pulling Harry on top of him. When neither boy could breath, they broke off, gasping with eyes wide with lust. Harry straddled Ron's hips, pulling at the sweater the boy wore.  
  
"Where's Madame Pomfrey?" Harry asked, slightly out of breath and ripping Ron's clothes off.  
  
"She left. That's why I was here. To watch over you." The red haired boy laughed as Harry nipped at his neck. "There's no one else here."  
  
With a grin of satisfaction, Harry muttered, "Good."  
  
Everything moved so quickly in one ecstatic blur of passion. Harry had never felt so comfortable making love to anyone before. The familiarity of Ron's body, though virgin to Harry's touch, had been gazed upon before. The deep, baritone moans emitted from Ron's throat causing Harry to harden just by the sound. Thrusting into the flaming haired boy not only delivered the usual pleasures of sex, but there was something more; something that fit. Something in that feeling of them cumming together that made Harry feel warmer and more alive than he had for the past year and half. As Ron lay, naked in Harry's arms, the Golden Boy realized that there would be no awkward feelings between the two. It was as if the age-old friendship had been strengthened by the two of them sleeping together. Not that they would do this all the time. Harry believed that would be taking advantage of Ron. So, instead of them separating and feeling very embarrassed, they lay together. When Ron finally awoke, he dressed quickly, dressed the sleeping Harry, and reclaimed his position on the chair. He watched Harry sleep until Madame Pomfrey returned a small vile in her hand.  
  
"Now, Mr. Weasley, I'm going to need your help." She handed the vile over to him. "I need you to sprinkle this on the wounds of the girl."  
  
"What will it do?" Ron looked at the contents of the vile. It was a clear liquid that looked no different than tap water.  
  
"It's Holy Water. Straight from Rome, and it will restore the flesh to its original state if the thing that killed her was in fact, a vampire or some other occult creature."  
  
In a completely different part of the castle, Draco sat on an old desk, looking around the room where he claimed territory. It was somewhat similar to the old Astronomy tower, expect there were diagrams of people all over the walls. Perhaps the room once held a Biology-like course. It didn't matter what the past of the room was, for Draco was not in the past. He was living in his present, which he didn't like to think about anymore than he liked to speculate on the past of the desk on which he sat. There was something going on within the castle that was being kept to a dull roar. There was talk of a vampire, talk of demons, talk of blood and death. Of course, any information derived from the grapevine had to be taken with a grain of salt. The girls who made up the gossip train (mostly Hufflepuffs', for the poor kids had nothing else to do) liked to exaggerate details and omit key details so problems seemed much bigger than they really were. There had been many rumors spread about Draco himself. The girls would whisper and laugh as he walked through the corridors; stony faced with his white eyebrows coming together above his pointed nose in a look of disgust. His upper lip would curl when he caught their eyes. Eventually, the rumors stopped for the girls feared their lives. But there was something going on inside Draco that wasn't a rumor. He couldn't figure out exactly why, but the golden Boy had been on his mind constantly. Draco would see the boy in the halls and feel something that wasn't the hatred or anger he was used to. It was a sick sort of jealousy, or a form of respect. He couldn't tell what exactly what it was. Whatever it was, it was confusing him and he had never felt quite like it before. To watch Potter sitting at his table surrounded by friends, poking at his meal and somehow managing to look completely alone tugged at him inside. Sure Potter was good looking, but surely-  
  
"Damn it, Draco. Pull yourself together!" He blinked hard and groaned.  
  
There was something inside himself that he hated. Something disgusting that looked back at him in the mirror. He was beautiful on the outside, but inside he was a hideous knot of pain and anger. All the rot that built up inside him was amplified when he saw Potter, who had experienced many of the same problems as he himself had, but came out of it looking like a hero and gaining everyone's respect. So Draco had felt jealous and struck out, lashing at the great Saint Potter and trying to bring him down a notch to fly an even pitch with the rest of the world. Thinking about it now, Draco could see why Potter hated him so much. If things had been a little different, they could have been so much better. Starring at a spot on the wall, his mind freeing of thoughts, Draco concluded that in order to continue to please his father, he would have to omit all memory of this night. Sitting and thinking about Potter just wouldn't do. Draco thumbed around in his robes for a small container that held several green leaves. He placed one in his mouth and sighed. Every time he saw Potter and felt that tingle inside his stomach, it felt like deja vu because every time, he forced himself to forget.  
  
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A/N: So that was the second chapter. I got a brilliant idea that I absolutely love and I will try to weave it in within the next chapter or too. Review! 


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